


The first day of Rakeesh

by doitsuki



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Come Eating, Corruption, Crying, Demons, Drabble, Fantasizing, Fantasy, Fel, Hand Feeding, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Kink, M/M, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexual Content, Sexual Grooming, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsuki/pseuds/doitsuki
Summary: random bit of writing about Rakeesh (Velen's son) in the very beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

_The boy looks just like his father._

So Kil’jaeden had thought for the twenty years he’d known Velen’s son, a sprightly young lad with bright blue eyes and pitch black hair.

_He’s all I have left of you._

Purposefully Kil’jaeden strode on fel-cracked hooves towards where his subordinates were keeping the child, a grown adult by looks alone. Kil’jaeden had lived for thousand of years. He barely considered those beneath him in life experience. What could he ever gain from naivete and weakness? Power was his chiefest concern now, and he held it in his clawed crimson hands with conviction.

 _‘I will show you the way.’_ he thought, face impassive upon entering a wide cell with two fel crystals at either side of a suspended figure. They bound the boy with magic, just as iron manacles anchored him to the wall. What had once been a smooth white stone floor was blackened, corrupted, and green liquid seeped through cracks that seemed to breathe.

Jahaan backed against the wall, his heavy shackles scraping against the floor. Terror danced in his eyes as he gazed at the Man’ari before him, formerly one of the most trustworthy beings he’d ever known. Gone was the levelheaded, light blue paragon of justice. Here stood a huge, hulking red creature with black spikes screaming out of his face, two curled horns protruding from his skull. His teeth were jagged, his eyes greenish-gold. Jahaan whimpered.

“Monster…”

Kil’jaeden cocked his head to the left, an ominous silence weighing heavy in the air. Then he spoke, and his voice was a warped, guttural growl.

“Rakeesh. I will name you thus.”

‘Rakeesh’ was too lost in paralyzing fear to comprehend the Eredar’s words, noticing how Kil’jaeden’s silvery hair wafted on unseen energy currents.

“Kil…Kil’jaeden… what happened to you?”

“I will say this once, boy. You are to be trained in combat for the glory of the Legion, at Lord Sargeras’s request.” Kil’jaeden lied with his face resembling a placid lake. The lack of emotion only frightened Rakeesh further, for he’d always seen Kil’jaeden smiling and laughing on the occasions they’d met…

“Who’s… who’s that?”

“Our new leader.” Kil’jaeden said. He then folded his thick, muscular arms and asked, “Now what is your name?”

“Jahaan…”

Kil’jaeden sneered. “Wrong. Everyone takes a new name in service to the Legion. You are _Rakeesh_.”

“But- but you were _there_ when Father named me, Kil’jaeden, what’s going on-”

Kil’jaeden leaned in, bending until their crests almost touched. In his eyes was a black, furious hatred that silenced Rakeesh at once.

“My word is _law_ , you cretin. It has always been so.”

“F-f…f…fair point.” Rakeesh coughed then, the light in his eyes dimming somewhat. Fel and Holy energies did not do well in such close proximity, and the ache in his soul from his binding crystals only increased now that Kil’jaeden was here.

“Are you lonely, Rakeesh?” Kil’jaeden suddenly changed tone and stood up straight, stroking a tendril between two fingers. Rakeesh looked at him, unable to do so for long. After the painfully long pause, Kil’jaeden continued as eloquent as ever. “I have a little friend for you, courtesy of the Legion.”

 _‘Legion this, legion that.’_ Rakeesh thought to himself. _‘He’s gone mad.’_

“I have not.” Kil’jaeden said with a chuckle. It was dark, cruel, and devoid of all warmth. “Here.” From a pouch at his side he pulled something out, and Rakeesh recognized the hair on it at once. “You did not see when I snapped her neck, did you? Pity. Velen seemed to enjoy it, screaming and screaming.” Kil’jaeden tossed the decapitated head of Rakeesh’s mother towards him, and the thing was still moving, animated by some ungodly magics. Rakeesh flinched with his whole body, knees pulled up to his chest. His mouth flapped uselessly and only air escaped him, eyes disc-wide.

“Have fun.” Kil’jaeden said. “Your tutors will come around shortly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yis there's MOAR

Rakeesh had been alone in the dark for nine hours when a sickly green light shone upon his face. He squinted, blinking rapidly as pain seared his eyeballs right to the back of his head. A robed figure stood before him – ah, no. It did not stand upon feet or hooves like anything he’d seen. Ragged black fabric fluttered at his eye level, and it became more animated as the figure moved closer. Yellow-green runes were fixed into the garment’s long lapels, and the further Rakeesh craned his neck it became apparent that this… _thing_ was exceedingly tall. Beyond the height of even Kil’jaeden, it floated in place with dark smoke curling from its jagged maw.

 _“I see you are well.”_ said the figure in a clear, deep voice.

It had no eyes.

“Wha…” Rakeesh tried to curl in on himself but all he could do was move his tail, the crystals at his sides hissing in resistance.

 _“Be afraid, child. Writhe and moan all you like.”_ The figure, one of Sargeras’s demonic inquisitors, raised bony fingers to Rakeesh’s face. _“But for now, stay still. Let me have a look at you.”_ Its digits clacked against the boy’s crest, tapping at his brow and then cheekbones. The fingers pressed in harder, digging into supple flesh. _“Oooh… soft.”_

“S-stop it!” Rakeesh twisted his head to one side but the inquisitor only gripped him harder, piercing the meat of his cheeks.

 _“Naughty boy. You are squirmy, aren’t you?”_ Blood seeped from four fresh gashes in purpled skin. Rakeesh drew in a thin breath, then another, and began to cry. The inquisitor chuckled.

_“Oh… so delicate. Master Belac did say to be careful with your mind, but we can’t let him have all the fun. You’re going to learn so many wonderful things with us, Rakeesh.”_

“N-no…” Rakeesh whimpered, tears bubbling down his face in thick streams. “Please, just let me go…”

Five bony fingers swiped Rakeesh across the forehead, scraping thin lines into clammy skin.

 _“Bad.”_ said the Inquisitor. _“You don’t get to make demands.”_

“Owww!” By now, Rakeesh was thrashing in his binds to try and get away. Fatigue began to set in as he was taunted with futility, hopelessness and agony. The inquisitor slowly worked at his mind while the only thing Rakeesh’s body could do was sweat, his tail swishing erratically. He hadn’t been fed in hours and barely had the energy to think straight. So he panicked, while his tormentor observed in silence.

This went on for an hour or so, and then the inquisitor abruptly disappeared only to leave Rakeesh alone for a day. The cracks in the floor continued to pulse bright green, while the crystals emitted an incessant humming reminiscent of weevils eating away one’s brain. Rakeesh hung his head, cracked lips parted just enough to let him breathe. Coagulated blood stuck to his face, while fel energies discolored dark purple scabs. His clothes clung to his frame and he felt absolutely disgusting, every function of his body restricted to this terrible space. It didn’t seem to bother his next visitor, and it was Kil’jaeden accompanied by two succubi. Rakeesh lifted his heavy eyelids and saw the blurry outline of three figures, recognizing the middle one immediately.

“K…Kil…hhhhh…” His words died to a feeble gasp. Kil’jaeden simply smirked and adjusted the boy’s bindings, lifting Rakeesh high up in the air.

“Stupid boy. Don’t you know how to look after yourself?”

Rakeesh opened his eyes a little wider, confused and afraid. Kil’jaeden raised his clawed red palm and held it before Rakeesh’s face. Slowly it began to glow brighter and brighter until the light became raw energy, taking liquid form. The fel pooled in Kil’jaeden’s palm, bubbling and hot.

“Drink.”

Rakeesh sucked his lips in, every cell in his body screaming to stay the fuck away from whatever that was. It sounded, looked and smelled just like acid, worse than the kind used to dissolve waste material. Kil’jaeden rolled his eyes.

“It won’t kill you. You are thirsty, are you not?” After several seconds of further hesitation, Kil’jaeden went ahead and stuffed the fel goop into Rakeesh’s mouth, clamping the boy’s jaw in place with his other hand. He tilted Rakeesh’s head back with great force, straining stiff neck muscles that were more inclined to wither than move. Exhausted, Rakeesh could only spasm and choke as the boiling liquid went down his throat. Within seconds however his thirst dissipated, replaced by the screaming agony of _too hot, can’t breathe, I’ll die, I’ll die…_

And then there was only a sense of internal warmth as the fel coated his empty stomach, absorbing into his body. Rakeesh gasped as Kil’jaeden withdrew his hand, and he found himself unconsciously leaning after the sticky, glowing fingers. Kil’jaeden paused and Rakeesh flicked his tongue out, licking fel from a fingertip. The Deceiver watched in interest, saying nothing and letting Rakeesh come to his own horrified realization at what he was doing. When those wet blue eyes glanced up seeking answers, Kil’jaeden reabsorbed the fel into his skin and folded his hands behind his back. The succubi tittered amongst themselves, whispering in a language Rakeesh did not understand.

“You will drink when commanded, Rakeesh. Do you understand?” Kil’jaeden spoke with complete authority. Rakeesh gaped at him, clouds of acrid mist escaping his mouth. His mind was awash with confusion, utter chaos wreaking havoc on sensitive structures and crucial pathways. Kil’jaeden was influencing him to agree, submit and obey. The voice that Rakeesh answered in was barely his own.

“Yes…”

_‘What? No! I don’t want to drink that! It burns!’_

Kil’jaeden scowled suddenly, the expression horrifying on his corrupted face.

“Your mind betrays you. You are lying to me, boy.”

“I-I didn’t mean to! I…” Rakeesh desperately wanted Kil’jaeden to understand what was happening to him, that something that wasn’t his own will had made him speak, and it was like a thousand tiny soldiers were screaming instructions in his head that he couldn’t comprehend. “It burns, I…”

“Fifty lashes.” said Kil’jaeden, and the succubi at his sides flapped their leathery wings with glee. They uncoiled long, nine-tailed whips from behind their backs and subsequently began to argue about who would get the first hit. Kil’jaeden bent the will of one to make her lash out at once and Rakeesh screamed as he was struck across the chest.

“AAAUGH! Why?!”

“Again.” Kil’jaeden didn’t even have to say it, as the succubi took turns intermittently whipping Rakeesh. Kil’jaeden had little interest in watching, for sadism was not his strongest suit, and allowed his mind to drift as he filtered through the information today’s visit had produced. _‘A few months of new experiences should break him quite nicely. As long as he doesn’t understand what he’s being punished for, he’ll be a terrified bundle of nerves soon enough. Of course, he could grow numb to physical pain… but we’ll keep things fresh. Get a little creative. Maybe some reminders of his father abandoning him… just like he abandoned me.’_ The more Kil’jaeden reminisced about Velen, the deeper his heartache grew and it drove him to shove his succubi out of the way, taking in hand a huge fiery whip of hateful energy. Rakeesh cracked open an eye and shrieked as the Deceiver’s first strike came down. It opened up his stomach, instantly cauterizing it with fel crusting the wound’s edges. Rakeesh felt like he was being burned alive, forcibly kept conscious by Kil’jaeden’s obsessive grip on his mind. He would _feel_ , instinctive responses be damned. Kil’jaeden hit him again and again, the succubi cooing as they watched blue blood run green. Kil’jaeden didn’t even care that he was dangerously messing with the boy’s biology. He wasn’t thinking about where he struck, only extending his mighty left arm and whipping with near fatal strength. Rakeesh was just about to die as his organs started failing from the stress of such a brutal beating when Kil’jaeden stopped. Leaving him on the precipice of life, Kil’jaeden cast his whip away and left in a huff. He needed a tougher outlet for his rage, his grief, his confusion. Once more Rakeesh was abandoned and the succubi skipped after Kil’jaeden, having been present only to learn how to feed the fel to an unwilling captive. Kil’jaeden couldn’t do it by hand forever. Not unless he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no clue what i'm doing lmao


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nyam nyam nyam *fel consumption intensifies*

A few weeks went by, with Rakeesh eating a handful of fel every day. As his environment was saturated in the stuff, it gradually ate away the holy presence in his body until he was thoroughly corrupted down to the marrow of his bones. Instead of wasting away, he began to mutate ever so slowly with his muscles bulking up, the fibres within supplemented by magical energy. He functioned well enough without the need to do anything but hang in the air and survive, but often he wondered how he did so when he was tortured almost every day. Sometimes they came to him with laughter echoing around the walls and bent his fingers back until he panicked, repeating this for long minutes before dislocating a joint. Other times they alternated between ruthless tickling and surprise knife stabs. Some days Rakeesh would be bent over and whipped until his ass was raw. There was a particular succubus who enjoyed doing that to him, especially when Archimonde came around to watch. Archimonde however was forbidden from touching Rakeesh, as Kil’jaeden did not trust him to lay a hand on the boy what with Archimonde’s monstrous new strength. Instead, he would observe and be mildly entertained before going off to do his usual pastimes of genocide and skinning people alive.

Rakeesh had noticed that Kil’jaeden treated him more kindly than the demons – there was a difference between Man’ari and demon to him – and a small part of his mind latched on to the fact. In a world of unknowns and terrifying manipulations, he held dear what he could know and experience as truth. Kil’jaeden acted with reason, he’d always done so. Even if Rakeesh didn’t know it, he could take comfort in the fact that Kil’jaeden did what he did for a purpose. The demons just seemed to hurt him for fun. He had no useful information to give, nor was he capable of resisting much. But they always managed to engage him somehow and without Kil’jaeden in the room, Rakeesh was constantly on edge. Without him, Rakeesh knew he could die.

It had been two months since his imprisonment, and today Rakeesh heard the familiar, solitary click of Kil’jaeden’s hooves approaching. The Deceiver called him by name, and Rakeesh responded by looking up. Kil’jaeden smiled.

“Good boy.”

Rakeesh made a low trilling sound a bit like a bird stuck in a malfunctioning blender, his vocal chords more often used for screaming than coherent speech. The fel had deepened his voice, giving it a throaty warble that terrified him every time he spoke. Kil’jaeden knew this, and sought to coax out those dark new tones.

“Are you hungry?”

Rakeesh nodded, eagerly leaning forwards. Kil’jaeden remained still, and Rakeesh knew he’d done something wrong.

“You will respond to your Master when spoken to.”

“Nnn…” Rakeesh felt a sickening twist in the pit of his stomach when Kil’jaeden exerted his will so strongly, and gave in as his body craved the fel. “Yes, Master...”

Kil’jaeden was patient enough not to push too much too soon, and rewarded his captive with a nice large handful of liquid energy. Rakeesh stuffed his face into Kil’jaeden’s palm, greedily slurping at the green goop and getting most of it all over his cheeks.

“My, my… slow down, or you’ll choke.”

“Mm.” Rakeesh lapped at Kil’jaeden’s palm and sucked every one of his fingers to get as much of the fel into his body as possible. This always happened, every time he was fed. He wanted more and more and more but was never satisfied – not like Kil’jaeden gave him heaps of the stuff, anyway. He dared to look up, his lips pressed to Kil’jaeden’s wrist. He hesitated to speak. The Deceiver watched him, curious.

“What’s the matter?”

“…More?”

Kil’jaeden whisked his hand away and smacked Rakeesh right across the face. “You greedy thing. Going to bleed me dry, are you? You think what I give is infinite?” He lied. For as long as he remained standing he could convert his body’s energy into an external form, but Rakeesh didn’t need to know that. “You should be grateful I am bothering to feed you at all.”

“Forgive… me…” Rakeesh whispered, his face drooping in abject misery. He wasn’t going to get any more fel for the next twenty-four hours, and during that time he would either be alone in the dark or tortured to near madness.

“Mh.” Kil’jaeden gripped Rakeesh by the jaw, pressing at the base of the boy’s tentacles. They were thick, just like Velen’s. “There are other sources I can give you, but only if you are good for me.”

Rakeesh had no idea where this was going, his knowledge of the fel quite limited. He raised his brows, then furrowed them as Kil’jaeden squished his face.

“Some other day.” said Kil’jaeden, and he turned around. Loud hissing came from the crystals behind him as Rakeesh struggled in his bonds. Kil’jaeden ignored him and walked right out with a sway to his hips, tail swishing up in the air. Oh yes, he _was_ pleased with himself. Today had inspired a nice little plan for him to work at over the year, and it would be an excellent way to further Rakeesh’s development if Kil’jaeden could manipulate him in the way all Eredar were vulnerable to. He hadn’t studied a single living creature whose base desires couldn’t be turned against them.

Yes. This was going to be _that_ kind of story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

After Rakeesh’s daily meals, a few different types of demons started visiting him each morning. Instead of senseless torture, they would request compliance in either listening or doing something, and if Rakeesh obeyed he would be unharmed. He learned quickly enough that he could avoid serious whippings if he sat nicely and allowed the demons to indoctrinate him. It was actually somewhat interesting, if a little simplistic what the Great Lord Sargeras wanted. Destruction of everything, to eliminate any and all corruption, so creation could be made anew in his own perfect image. Rakeesh latched on to the idea of a nihilistic crusade, for if they were all going to die, then there was truly no point in resisting. Once his will to fight died down enough, his tutors began rewarding him with small fel crystals and even increased movement in his bonds. Rakeesh couldn’t even begin to express how relieved he felt to have his arms by his sides, no longer stretched above him in pain. He was learning, at the most basic chemical level his brain was capable of. It took months, as he was still young and impressionable, but soon enough he was clay in Kil’jaeden’s hands on the basis of positive reinforcement. Rakeesh looked forward to the Deceiver’s visits, as he knew nobody with more consistent behaviour than logical, sensible Kil’jaeden. Kil’jaeden wouldn’t carve sigils into his skin just for fun, and certainly wouldn’t pull his tail to see his reaction.

Today Kil’jaeden arrived in a brand new set of armour, two massive black pauldrons sitting on his shoulders with a polished green gem in each one. Runes decorated the edges of everything from his vambraces to his polished belt, and the segments of said belt swung in a way that drew Rakeesh’s attention. Kil’jaeden wasn’t wearing any pants.

“Greetings.” said Kil’jaeden, not missing where his captive was looking. He clicked his fingers twice and Rakeesh glanced up, meeting his eyes.

“Master… where are your pants?”

“Where are _yours_?”

Rakeesh had been nude since he’d gotten here and been stripped of all dignity. He closed his legs, kneeling before Kil’jaeden.

“I don’t know.”

“Hmph.” The Deceiver’s eyes lit up in shades of green and gold, his thin lips curling into a cruel smile. If he ignored the skin colour and fel energies, Rakeesh looked just like a younger Velen on his knees. He reached down and grabbed the Eredar’s thick black hair, forcing Rakeesh’s head up. There was no resistance, only a quiet grunt and two huge green eyes looking up at him. Hot breaths clouded in the air, Rakeesh wagging his tail in anticipation of a treat. Kil’jaeden gathered a handful of fel, half the usual amount, and offered it up. As always Rakeesh slurped as if starved and actually whined in disappointment when it was all gone. He pleaded with his whole body, but not his words, for more. Kil’jaeden simply looked at him.

“M…Master…”

“What?” Kil’jaeden suddenly sounded irate and Rakeesh cringed.

“I’m s-sorry. Please, can I have some more?”

“Get it yourself.” Hands on his hips, Kil’jaeden thrust his pelvis forwards. “It’s about time you learned to sense where to get your food.”

“Nnn…” Rakeesh reached out, his newly grown claws scraping at Kil’jaeden’s skin as he patted his hands around, trying to detect what he wanted. Kil’jaeden had fel running through his blood, it had invaded every cell of him, but there was a concentration of it hiding just under his belt. Rakeesh closed his eyes and breathed in, face pressed to Kil’jaeden’s crotch. The belt clinked as it was moved aside, and it rested atop Rakeesh’s crest, draped over the back of his head. Kil’jaeden adjusted his grip on the boy’s hair, taking two thick handfuls of it and tugging hard. Rakeesh found himself right between Kil’jaeden’s thighs, and the acrid scent of fel was absolutely _intoxicating_. He was barely coherent as his jaw slackened and he took sharp, deep breaths while helplessly mouthing at the tip of Kil’jaeden’s cock. There it was, the taste he craved, the bright green fel he couldn’t get enough of. Enveloped in heady musk he was drawn to try and swallow the Deceiver’s thick, meaty length whole, but his mouth was far too unused to stretching that wide and he choked. Kil’jaeden stared down at him, an unreadable expression on his twisted face.

 _‘He’s never done this before.’_ At the edges of his vision a hallucinogenic mist crept in. Crimson faded to soft lilac, and the dark cell was flooded with golden sunlight. _‘Of course not. He wouldn’t be pure if he had.’_ He didn’t think of what was happening, or how he was perceiving the events to come. There was a warm, wet mouth full of spiky little teeth around his dick and a hungry Eredar on his knees with long dark hair. Kil’jaeden closed his eyes and thrust.

“GHk!” Kil’jaeden’s burning cockhead hit the back of Rakeesh’s throat, searing what breath remained in his lungs. Rakeesh coughed, his tongue convulsing and drawing out a soft moan from Kil’jaeden. Without a care for what he was doing, Kil’jaeden adjusted his hooves and began to ride his captive’s face. Rakeesh was bent backwards until his spine almost came out, and he held on to Kil’jaeden’s thighs for dear life. Every powerful thrust sent fel embers swirling through the air, the Deceiver beating his wings to stay upright. For Rakeesh it felt like eating a very animated sausage in the middle of a tornado, and it was a damn good sausage, too. Kil’jaeden’s ridged cock pulsed as Rakeesh sucked at it, tough enough to withstand teeth and even a bit of nibbling. It was only natural for Rakeesh to try and draw out more of the fel, for he could sense that the more he manipulated his Master’s cock with his lips and tongue, the faster his food would trickle out. Kil’jaeden may or may not have planted that thought in his mind.

After a few minutes of this Kil’jaeden was truly lost in his own mind, and he took one hand to brace himself against the back wall of the cell, careless for his captive’s bindings. What hair he still held on to was slipping away and so he dove back to grab it by the roots, forcing Rakeesh’s head back and forth on his aching length.

“Mmmmnnn…. Velen…” Kil’jaeden groaned, a smile spreading across his face. “Fucking take it, you…”

Rakeesh paused, a little confused. He looked up and saw only Kil’jaeden’s belt shifting around, his head being steadily manipulated for a consistent deepthroating.

 _‘Did… Did he just call me by my father’s name?’_ He’d been enjoying the stream of fel coating his cheeks and tongue so far, but this oddity drew him out of his trancelike state and he tapped on Kil’jaeden’s thigh.

“Mgghhhnschhhrr…”

“Mhm, that’s right, beg…” Kil’jaeden was thrusting so violently that he’d begun to pant, tongue a quarter way out of his mouth. His tail fanned from side to side so hard that he was close to losing the ring at the tip of it.

“MMMNF!” Rakeesh legitimately couldn’t breathe and smacked Kil’jaeden hard on the side of his ass, finding it surprisingly soft. Kil’jaeden abruptly bust a nut and a massive torrent of fel gushed down Rakeesh’s throat, flooding him with nutritious, decadent pleasure. Rakeesh’s eyes rolled back into his head and he gulped down everything he could, unconsciously sucking away at the tip of Kil’jaeden’s cock to drain every last morsel it had to offer. Kil’jaeden’s thighs quivered and he stepped back, casting Rakeesh’s head to one side with a swift tug on his hair. He wiped his length on the Eredar’s face, twitching and sensitive at every touch. Slowly his wings came to fold back behind him, his tail drooping into a more relaxed position while he regained his facial composure. He let go of Rakeesh and adjusted his belt. The dreamlike haze was fading, and Kil’jaeden didn’t want to be here when it did. He teleported out of the cell, reappearing in his own private chambers where he could collapse in bed and think about what he had done.

Rakeesh meanwhile was gasping for breath, trying to lick up the green smear on his cheek. His mind had learnt something.

Kil’jaeden’s dick = good source of food.

Food = Extremely positive emotions to be attained at all costs.

Now he had something to work towards, and began to plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I heard you like angst

Rakeesh had never been taught about sex, nor how he was supposed to feel or react to the topic. As he lay on his back with his tail curled over a thigh, he remembered his experience with Kil’jaeden. It _was_ kind of strange that the thing most Eredar peed out of could produce the substance Rakeesh coveted if touched the right way.

 _‘I didn’t know we could do that. Huh.’_ He looked down at himself, at his own average dangly bits. _‘Can **I** do it? What if I could produce my own fel? Then I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone, and I could make my way out of here!’_ Both hands went to his dick and he lifted it up, twisting it left and right. _‘I can’t reach it with my face…’_ It felt just like any other part of his body, chilling between his legs. _‘Maybe… if I…’_

“Just WHAT are you doing?” Belac, the Legion’s First Warden, floated in right on time as he did every week. “Get up!’

“Yeep!” Rakeesh got to his feet and bowed at a seventy degree angle.

“Don’t tell me you were playing with yourself.” Belac sneered, waving his lantern around and throwing green light all around the place. “Disgusting.”

“I’m sorry.” said Rakeesh, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t know what it does.”

“You’re lucky we haven’t castrated you yet.” Belac, being an entity without legs, didn’t have any genitals and was actually salty as fuck about that. “Now look alive, meatbag. We’re going over slave caste behaviour and mannerisms today.” He took out a book from somewhere in his robes and Rakeesh sat down for one long lesson.

Meanwhile, Kil’jaeden was ten floors above on the highest level of Antorus, the enormous palace Sargeras had taken up residence in. The Dark Titan was having his underlings present snippets of information to him, so he could choose which of the Nether’s infinite planets to visit. He couldn’t have a Burning Legion without some fiery conscripts, and the demons he had at present were mostly creatures of Void bent to his will through fel corruption. He wanted more. Never mind that he would kill them all when their service was through.

Kil’jaeden’s golden gaze drifted about, from the tall grey pillars adorned with skulls at the top to the green crystal windows. He stood at the right of Sargeras’s throne, while Archimonde leaned back on the left side of it. Archimonde’s ears were pricked up as he listened intently, genocidal insanity glittering in his cruel green eyes. Just the mere thought of forcing entire civilizations to their knees made his tail sway with pleasure, brought his shoulders up to a more confident stance. Sargeras was drip-feeding him power, and Archimonde had fallen right into his trap. The hunger on his face unnerved Kil’jaeden somewhat, and the Deceiver unconsciously slackened his posture, wings drooping until their tips touched the floor. It felt strange to have these massive appendages protruding from his back – he hadn’t slept properly in a month, and managed by taking short naps while standing. His crimson eyelids lowered, dimming the light of his gaze. His back _ached_ all the way from his buttocks to his neck, even Sargeras’s fel presence doing little to heal his pains. Every muscle had been straining day after day to keep him on his hooves, the workload immense for the Legion’s initial construction. There were ranks to be organized, buildings to be planned, weapons of titanic strength devised simply on Sargeras’s word… Kil’jaeden could barely move his hands today from the stiffness in his fingers. Having Sargeras commission architectural blueprints one day and strange looking guns the next had sucked all the joy Kil’jaeden had ever found in technical drawing. But he didn’t dare focus on his dislike for the Dark Titan now, not when standing right beside him. Sargeras had delivered his power as promised. Kil’jaeden, however, had not been prepared for _this._

“So you see, this one here…” One of the Eredar Artificers Kil’jaeden knew as Veruul brought up an image of a planet. “This is Nihilam, home to a sentient species of creatures who use weapons and language. They would be an excellent addition to your army.”

“I will pluck their leader from the battlefield and break his will. All shall serve.” Sargeras growled, tapping his clawed fingers against the armrest of his shiny new throne. “We leave as soon as the ships are ready.”

“Yes, Master.” Veruul bowed, closing the holographic device he held in one hand. He slipped it into his pocket and glanced to Kil’jaeden, noticing how exhausted (and ridiculously handsome) he looked. “My Lord Kil’jaeden, are you well?”

Kil’jaeden’s wings twitched, his tail curling inwards. “Yes. I look forward to our conquest.”

“Liar.” Archimonde scoffed, and Kil’jaeden wanted an anvil to drop down on his head almost instantly. “You just want a soft, warm bed and that traitor Velen in there with you.”

Sargeras squinted, thoroughly unused to the petty banter of mortal races.

“Is this true, Kil’jaeden? You harbor _weakness_ for the outcast enemy? He is worthless, beneath us all. Rejecting my gift has earned him only a lifetime of suffering.” Invasive tendrils of thought pried at Kil’jaeden’s mind, Sargeras curiously peeking in to check on him. What he found was a sodden despair, streaks of ancient joy painted over with hate and grief and rage. Kil’jaeden clung to precious memories all the while recollecting them pulled his present soul apart. Sargeras took conniving pity on the Eredar and whispered to him.

**_-HATE HIM, KIL’JAEDEN. THERE IS NO PLACE FOR SOFTNESS IN THE LEGION.-_ **

An errant thought spat right back at him, completely subconscious and out of Kil’jaeden’s control.

_‘What if I don’t want to be in the Legion?’_

**-THEN I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND, FOOL. YOU HAVE MY BLESSING. THE FEL RUNS THROUGH YOUR VEINS. DO NOT WASTE IT.-**

Kil’jaeden sighed, the mere taste of arguing with Sargeras having made him want to vomit. He carefully folded his hands over his stomach, hooking his thumbs into the thick leather of his belt.

“Veruul. See to it that enough ships are available for all our armed forces within the month.”

“And I will make sure those forces know to fight.” Archimonde gave a two-fingered salute to Kil’jaeden, whose eyes were unfocussed.

 _‘Damn, what’s with you?’_ Archimonde pushed himself into Kil’jaeden’s mind. Kil’jaeden furrowed his brows in mild discomfort, trying to restrain any outward expressions of pain. _‘Hey. Answer me.’_

_‘I fucked him, Archi. I fucked him and I thought of Velen.’_

Archimonde’s tail stood right up in the air. _‘Whaaaaaaaat? Rakeesh? Dude, you have to tell me about this, but later.’_

Kil’jaeden only gave a soft grunt in reply, and the meeting soon dispersed. Archimonde followed his friend downstairs to the private rooms carpeted in shades of dark, swirling purple. This was where Kil’jaeden often worked on his arcane studies, but it was gradually being repurposed into a den of debauchery as the fel fueled more Eredar to embrace their base desires. Kil’jaeden slumped into a large, squishy couch and let his wings rest over the back of it. Archimonde sat on the table right in front of him, leaning over with his elbows on his knees.

“Right. Tell me everything.”

Kil’jaeden didn’t trust Archimonde further than he could throw him, but it would be a long time coming before Archimonde betrayed him for Sargeras’s favour. He needed someone to talk to, and here someone was.

“I miss him.” Kil’jaeden’s voice was thin, brittle.

“I know.”

“He was a part of me, Archi, he always had been. Why did he have to leave? How could he be so blind?”

“You know how he loved the Light. He wouldn’t have been able to accept the unique magic Lord Sargeras offered us, even if he knew it would make him stronger. Not that he ever cared about strength. He was always weak.”

“He was my _friend_.” Kil’jaeden whispered. “My brother. I loved him.”

“You sure did…” Archimonde patted his crotch with a smirk. “And you fucked his son, dreaming of Velen’s tight virgin ass, did you?”

Kil’jaeden glared at him. “Do not speak so crudely.”

“Why not?” Archimonde challenged. “That’s exactly what you did, wasn’t it? Picked up Rakeesh by the face and stuck your cock down his thirsty little throat.” He’d seen the vision flashing through Kil’jaeden’s mind, felt the somatic memory of yesterday. Kil’jaeden put his head in his hands.

“Urghhh…”

_‘What have I done?’_

Archimonde lowered his eyelids, observing Kil’jaeden. “I know it hurts. But you have to forget about him.”

“I can’t. Every waking moment I think of him, how kind he was to me, how anything he said could ease my worries in an instant…” Kil’jaeden covered his mouth with one hand, but his thoughts flowed right out of his lips no matter how hard he tried to clamp his jaws shut. “He could stand next to me and everything would be right with the world, and there would be none of this fel, Sargeras, Burning Legion crap at all…!”

“Careful.” Archimonde’s voice had a hot, warning edge to it. “You don’t want to slander our Lord.”

 _“We_ were the Lords before he came! You and me and Velen…”

“Ugh! Again with him! Come on, if we’re going to get you moving forwards, you’ll have to try a little harder to forget him.”

“But I don’t want to forget.” Kil’jaeden said sullenly. “I want him back.”

_‘He was the best thing that ever happened to me, and now he’s gone. He’s somewhere, out there in the vast universe… and I will find him even if it takes all of eternity.’_

Archimonde looked at him, and furrowed his brows as a certain conviction dawned in his eyes.

“Why?”

Kil’jaeden glanced up. “Why do you think?”

“You want Velen back just so you can fuck him, is that it?”

“What? No!” Kil’jaeden scraped his hooves against the carpet and stood up, wings flaring. Archimonde raised his hands in defense.

“Alright, alright, I hit a nerve. Settle down. Think about this, bro. What good would Velen do to serve our Lord Sargeras? Light and Fel don’t mix.”

“He could become stronger.” Kil’jaeden said plaintively, the look on his face betraying his lack of faith in his words. “Or… or…”

“He’d never accept any of this. That’s why he left. He wouldn’t be of any use to us now-”

“That’s not true! Velen always helped me manage my time when I was working, and let me be as efficient as possible by not burning out for weeks on end. Now, I…” Kil’jaeden trailed off, slumping back into the couch. He didn’t want to tell Archimonde that he barely knew what day it was after he’d been slaving away in Antorus for Void knews how long. Ever was he dedicated to his work, but Velen had been the one to save him from overexertion and a single-minded focus literally starving him to death. Without that comfort, reassurance and care, his mind was all over the place and he had immense trouble managing his new addiction to the fel. It gnawed at his every waking moment, tingling up and down his neck and muddling his thoughts. Taking in the fel enabled him to focus, offered the much needed clarity he’d known before all this started. And Kil’jaeden suffered without his thoughts in logical sequence, inclining him to guzzle down streams of fel from whatever source he could find until he felt in his right mind again. He hated it, being so… _dependent_ all of a sudden. And that was how Sargeras wanted him.

Archimonde was sitting beside him now, and gently stroked the thick plating at the base of Kil’jaeden’s tail.

“You’ll be fine.” he muttered. “Now look alive and go check on Rakeesh. Moping around won’t do you any good.”

Kil’jaeden remained still, the tip of his tail gently flicking up and falling down. His gaze was downcast, face turned away from Archimonde. Archimonde squeezed him a little, just by his side.

“Hey.”

Kil’jaeden said nothing, thick green tears running down his face. Taken aback, Archimonde stared at him with wide eyes. There was no expression on the Deceiver’s face, but he almost looked amused at his own despair. His thin lips curled up ever so slightly at the corners, and his brows were drawn together. In silence, he wept.

_‘I want him back.’_

**Author's Note:**

> i could continue this but idk


End file.
